


Harmony

by Anilite



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Au Ra Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Au Ra Xaela (Final Fantasy XIV), Azim Steppe (Final Fantasy XIV), F/M, Romantic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 08:57:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20561672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anilite/pseuds/Anilite
Summary: A short piece about an Oronir and a Qestir, and how they met before they started their journey together.





	Harmony

The two Xaela had stopped to rest, settling in to where the cool breezes of the night could reach them over the desert and through the open window. Tomorrow would mean more travel, and more tasks for the Scions and the people of Thanalan. Now it was time to catch their breath, to enjoy the calm of the evening, the warm glow of the lamplight, the glittering stars beyond, and the company within. 

Yisu leaned her back against the window frame and carefully turned the peg at the top of her morin khuur, the slight weight of the wooden instrument held in her lap as she deftly slid her bow over the first string. She closed her eyes, blocking out her vision long enough to make it easier to pick out the quality of the sound until the pitch resonated right. She tuned one string with practiced fingers, then the other. It was a familiar ritual, one she had done since she was young, since she had become delighted with the sound. For one without a voice, she had felt more than anything that the music could tell her truth where words would have always failed. 

In times past she had played in the market at Reunion, set apart from the merchants and tents and guards, closer to the wooden wall that surrounded most of the settlement. The breeze would ruffle her short white hair, and her slim hands wove music that would mix with the sounds of a bustling marketplace. Now, so far away from home, she took the instrument and the songs of her homeland with her, a little taste of what she had left behind. 

When she opened her eyes she found Ganzori looking at her, gold eyes watching her tune the strings. He was resting against a wall, leaning back with one arm propped up on a bent knee. His face bore that familiar, fond expression and whisper of a smile that was hers alone. 

The first time she had seen that expression was when she was playing outside the market back home. She had seen him before. All the clans traded in Reunion, and even the Oronir came down from their pedestal sometimes. He had stopped before, pausing on his way to accomplish some or other vital tasks. This was the first time he had lingered. 

She did not care who came to see her play, she didn’t care if anyone came at all. She played for herself, when the day’s work was done and the mood struck. That day hadn’t seemed any different from the others. The traders bustled, the winds came in breezes through the settlement. She saw different faces of different clans pass her by and pay her no mind, or stop to listen for a spell. She knew him for his clan by his dark hair specked with gold, his tanned skin and the ever present yellow of his clothes. He had paused, standing in that way that the Oronir did, their chins held high and their bodies still but waiting to move. She had glanced up at him, meeting his eyes for just a moment past the hair that fell to obscure the right side of her face. She didn’t miss a beat, her hand still using the bow, the other moving down the strings on the neck of the morin khuur to change their pitch. When she looked back up from the instrument a second time she could see him smiling at her. 

He came back more often after that. His face became a familiar one. She saw him speaking with the merchants of the other tribes, sometimes sparing glances in her direction. Were she playing, he always stopped, listened until her song was done. He always smiled at her like that. He came to her and spoke with that low timbre “You’re quite good.” He would say, nodding to the instrument. She would smile only, visible by the crinkle in the corners of her violet eyes over her veil, nodding her appreciation with a slight incline of her chin. Another day, he came to her and introduced himself “I am Ganzori, of the Oronir.” She would nod a bit deeper, showing she understood. Another time he said he played too. It always seemed as if he were going to say more, but he instead looked perplexed, frowning and nodding to her before turning away, as if remembering he had to be elsewhere.

He returned several times, always listening, always leaving with the same confused, thoughtful expression. Sometimes he would comment on the song, or her playing. Always she said nothing; it was their way. It became predictable; she got used to having him in her audience, peering at him with curious eyes. When the winds started to change, taking on the chill of colder months, she stopped seeing him for a time. Business came and went in Reunion. She saw other Oronir, but none stopped to listen.

Then one evening he returned. As the reds and oranges started to fill the sky of the Steppe, and her music filled the air of the closing market, he came and sat next to her. Instead of watching and listening, this time he settled in on the edge of her blanket, his own morin khuur in hand. The instrument looked much smaller against his tall frame than it did in her hands. He kept his bow still for a time, then lifted it to find the harmony with hers, playing the familiar songs she played in compliment. From one song to the next he kept pace, until the oranges in the sky started to turn to purples and blacks. When the last notes of their music started to fade, she lifted her gaze to his, smiling warmly, the purple of her limbal rings bright in the fading light. As he stared into her eyes a long moment, a brilliant smile spread across his features. 

“I know now what I thought the first time I stopped to hear you play.” he spoke, his eyes still intent on hers. He reached for her hand, taking her small fingers in his, dark tan against ashen lavender, squeezing gently before letting go. “You are my Nhaama. I know your clan does not put much stock in words - but I would show you.” 

With that said he drew back from her hands and picked up the instrument, moving to sit and to prop it up and put bow to strings. “I wrote this for you.” He said softly, gently. Yisu sat back and listened. The business of the day concluded, his bow sang, and his music filled the air, strong and clear. 

As she listened, Yisu smiled. For all the Oronir put their stock in talk, and strength, and their ruling of the Steppe; she saw this one as he played. She saw his focus, and the care his dexterous hands put into manipulating the bow. More than that, she heard his music. The notes sang true his belief that she was the moon to his sun, they danced back and forth with each other, weaving a journey in song. His willingness to play alongside her spoke volumes, and the carefully crafted notes of his composition confirmed it. 

She had since learned the song he wrote for her, and she played it through as she sat on the windowsill in their room at the Quicksand. He was smiling warmly when she put her bow down, and she returned the smile. He pulled a set of pipes from somewhere he had secreted them away in his jacket and gestured with them “Play it again, I’ll join you.” She nodded, smiling still as she lifted her bow once more to the strings. He let her begin, then the notes of the pipes came in and out of the melody. 

She always felt the closest to him when they both played. It felt like it had been ages ago, and a world away since they had played together in Reunion for the first time, but it was a cherished memory, kept fresh in her mind every time they both picked up their instruments. It was then she had known they would walk the path together, like the strings on the morin khuur they both loved, singing in harmony.


End file.
